I think last night was my last IMA dinner. Charm, schmoozing and entertaining the troops with graphic verbal imagery and unique dresses can no longer guarantee me entry to any more freebies. The Mermaid of Moorgate has bowed out, ungraciously, mohitos a-lined up in a row, and is now relegated to the realm of the client being king.
I tried to ensure that I gave my people a good Shimmering show last night. Put on my best green frock, hand-embroidered beads and sequins aplenty, gold shoes, the bottle blonde barnet aflowing, and gatecrashed the first party at the Grosvenor House Hotel.
The first mistake. It was Fidelity. The only non-accountable organisation in the world. Because Fidelity is the world, and it owns you. Oh yes. And it's one of my clients... I found that out today....
However, some great, laid-back contacts of mine there were more than gracious, lavishing me with canapes and trying to get their dull guests to say anything, anything at all..... so I kick-started myself to help them get into the party mode. Sadly this consisted of me accusing one Fidelity worthy of murdering his ex-wife by getting her to go scuba-diving in a concrete costume (swim, princess, swim).
Dinner went downhill. Got accosted by an ancient mariner with weeping eye who thought I was his young bride Maggie, who must have died in the 1920s, and had to get rescued by some chappy from Gartmore, who I then demanded dress up in green tights and pretend to be a christmas elf for santa.... I think he said yes....
Bill Bailey was excellent, although someone from my table apparently shouted: "We love you, you freak", and threw a bread roll. I hope it hit New Star. No! I really really hope it hit Jupiter. I hope it whacked that double-barrelled chap who can't spell "Field". I hope it hit him in the mouth.
I don't know who threw the roll.
Dinglenuts finally saved me from myself, or saved someone else from me. By midnight I was cruising tables for leftover petits fours. I ate dozens of them. At the time it must have seemed a good idea.